


remember me as a time of day

by andtimestoodstill



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, M/M, POV Ronan Lynch, Ronan Lynch is Bad at Feelings, adam parrish is ronan's hot tutor, could technically be considered a friday night lights au but i didn't try that hard, ronan lynch is good at football, the author also messed with the cannon timeline but she reserves the creative right to do so, the author has a lot of thoughts about the great gatsby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-27 02:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20752835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andtimestoodstill/pseuds/andtimestoodstill
Summary: “Up,” he tugged on Ronan’s arm one last time before the younger Lynch relented. “Follow me.” Ronan kept up with Declan easily, meeting him stride for stride, despite Declan’s pace. They wove through the cafeteria, stopping at a table near the front, where a sandy-haired boy sat alone, attention glued to the worn paperback in front of him, his sad looking lunch left to the side, seemingly forgotten. When he looked up, blue eyes locked on Ronan.Ronan tried to turn away, but Declan anticipated his movements, and caught him by the arm. “Ronan meet your new English tutor,” Declan said, smiling wolfishly. “Adam Parrish.” There was a tense silence for a few beats. “I take it, you two don’t know each other?”(In which, Adam Parrish readsThe Great Gatsbyout loud to Ronan Lynch and then they make out at the end)





	remember me as a time of day

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XkclIDu9K5c)

“Ronan!” Declan Lynch called as Ronan Lynch tried to round a corner into the busy hallway of Aglionby Academy. Having been found, Ronan paused, shoulders drawn up to his ears and waited for Declan to make his way over to him. “I called you three times yesterday,” Declan said, stepping around his younger brother’s frame.

“I was at practice,” Ronan tried to push past Declan, but the eldest Lynch brother held firm. Declan may have stopped playing football when he was seventeen, but once a defensive lineman, always a defense lineman.

“Which only goes until six, which means that you had,” Declan checked his watch, “fifteen hours and 58 minutes to respond.”

“What do you want, Declan?”

Declan appraised their surroundings for a moment. “Come with me,” he tugged at Ronan’s elbow, leading him into an empty classroom. Ronan threw himself into one of the desks, Declan hovering over him.

“I’m gonna be late to class.”

“You have Ironworks next period; I’m sure Coach Taylor won't mind if you’re a little late.”

“You know, Dec, your obsession with my daily schedule isn’t cute.”

Declan didn’t take the bait. “How long have you been making the JV boys do your homework?”

“What?”

“I saw you with the second-string JV kicker, what’s his name…” he started snapping with his right hand. “Jojen?”

“Joren,” Ronan corrected.

Declan gave him a Look, one dark eyebrow raised. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. How long has he been doing your math homework?”

“He doesn’t do my math homework. English on the other hand…”

“_God_, Ronan. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“If I don’t pass, I don’t play. You know the rules.”

“Yeah, but if you cheat, you get kicked out. And if you get expelled and change schools, you’re not going to see the field for another _year_. To me, that doesn’t seem worth it.”

Ronan rolled his eyes, crossing his arms across his chest defiantly. “I’ll still get recruited.”

“What’s your endgame here, Ronan? You going to take Joren with you to Notre Dame so he can keep doing your English homework?”

“I’d be doing him a favor. He’d never see the field at Notre Dame, kid can’t kick for shit.”

Declan looked like he was about commit capital murder, face reddening, mouth flattening to a fierce line. “You can’t do this shit anymore. The fact that you haven’t been caught yet is _astounding_. I told Joren that he can’t do your homework anymore, and I made it very clear that he was supposed to let all the other JV boys know the same.”

“What the fuck, Declan?” Ronan stood so quickly that his desk threatened to topple over. He grabbed at the seat, righting it. “I have an English report due Friday, if I don’t turn it in, I won't get to play this week.”

“That seems like a personal problem.”

“The season is almost over! You couldn’t have held off until after I had a state ring?”

Declan barked out a laugh. “You guys aren’t gonna win state.”

“Oh fuck off,” Ronan moved to leave, but Declan blocked the way again.

“Where are you going?”

“To threaten to brake Joren’s legs if he doesn’t do my essay.”

“No. You’re gonna read _Of Mice and Men_—”

“I have to read _The Great Gatsby_, actually.”

“Whatever. You’re doing the report yourself.”

Ronan blew out a breath, keeping his twitching hands at his sides. Punching Declan would solve zero problems. “Why do you care, Declan? You’re not my mother.”

“Yeah, but I am your legal guardian and your older brother. It’s kind of my job to make sure you don’t grow up stupid.”

“I’m not stupid—”

“You’re stupid enough to cheat, and even worse, you’re stupid enough to get caught.”

“You only found out because you’re obsessed with me.” Ronan tugged at his tie, feeling suffocated by the silk and cotton at his throat.

“You’re doing to the report yourself.” The warning bell rang overhead. “Get to class.”

***

Ronan took out his frustrations on Declan during the next period. He would have skipped, but he couldn’t have any unexcused absences during football season if he wanted to play.

At lunch, Ronan sat with Gansey and Noah, he and Noah trying to sneak fries from Gansey’s plate as he was recapping the weekend he spent in D.C. for his sister’s birthday.

“So Helen says to my mom—Oh hello, Declan.”

“Why did your sister call your mom Declan?” Ronan grabbed at another fry, but instead of Gansey smacking his hand away, it was Declan peering over him, Ronan’s wrist in his grip.

“Ronan, come with me.”

“What? No.” Ronan stayed seated, despite Declan’s tugging. “I was listening to Gansey’s story.”

“Just go, Ronan.” Gansey said, waving him off. “I’ll finish the story later.” Like Ronan actually cared about Gansey’s story, Christ.

“Let’s go, Ronan.” Declan gave his arm a particularly strong pull.

“Fuck off, that’s my throwing arm.”

“Up,” he tugged on Ronan’s arm one last time before the younger Lynch relented. “Follow me.” Ronan kept up with Declan easily, meeting him stride for stride, despite Declan’s pace. They wove through the cafeteria, stopping at a table near the front, where a sandy-haired boy sat alone, attention glued to the worn paperback in front of him, his sad looking lunch left to the side, seemingly forgotten. When he looked up, blue eyes locked on Ronan.

Ronan tried to turn away, but Declan anticipated his movements, and caught him by the arm. “Ronan meet your new English tutor,” Declan said, smiling wolfishly. “Adam Parrish.” There was a tense silence for a few beats. “I take it, you two don’t know each other?”

“We have Latin together,” Ronan said at last. He did not say that he spent more minutes in Latin staring at the constellation of freckles at the nape of Adam’s neck than copying down declensions. “The only class Parrish isn’t at the top of,” Ronan grinned.

Adam did not grin in return. “I’m not tutoring him,” Adam said, obviously speaking to Declan, but eyes never leaving Ronan’s face.

“Parrish. Please. One week, I’ll pay you double your usual rate.” Adam didn’t say anything for a few beats, and Ronan could feel Declan tensing up at his side. “Triple.”

“Deal.” Adam and Declan shook on it.

“I’m sorry, don’t I get a say in this?”

“No,” Adam and Declan said in unison. “Thanks, Parrish.” Declan turned away and stalked across the cafeteria.

“What time are you free today?”

“I’m not.” Ronan was still standing, biting the leather bracelets at his wrist.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you. It sounded like you don’t want my help on your English paper?” Adam blinked up at him sarcastically.

Ronan huffed out a breath. “That’s right.”

“Look,” Adam’s smile was sharp. “I may not be an athlete, but I’m a smart guy. I understand the Pass/Play rule. So, you can refuse my help and jeopardize your chance to play this week _and_ next week. Or you can tell me when you’re free today so we can meet up to go over your assignment. It’s up to you. I’m going to get paid either way.”

Ronan paused, the silence dragging out between them. “I have practice from four to six.”

“Great,” Adam closed his book. “Meet me in the library after school.” He stood, taking his sandwich in hand. “Don’t be late.” Ronan watch Adam sweep out of the cafeteria.

***

It took everything in Ronan not to skip the rest of the day and drive out to the Barns, but for once in his life he didn’t want to make the worst possible decision in any given situation, so he stayed. He reluctantly made his way to the library after eighth period, spotting Adam at a table near the front as he walked in.

“Parrish,” he said, dropping into the seat across from him.

“Lynch.” Adam looked up from what looked like his calculus homework. “Okay, let me see your assignment.”

“I haven’t started yet.”

“Yeah, I gathered that,” Adam was still holding out his hand. “I meant like, the assignment sheet. What are you supposed to do?”

“Oh,” Ronan ducked his head, digging into his backpack looking for some kind of hand out from Mrs. Burrs. “Ah,” he found it at last, pulling out a crumpled paper and laying it across the table.

Adam eyed it apprehensively before pulling it towards him. “Okay, so basic book report format. A short synopsis and then a discussion of the themes and how they relate to you.” Adam looked up and brushed his dust-colored hair from his eyes. “Have you finished the book yet?”

“No.”

“Have you started it yet?”

“No.”

Adam sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Okay. Well, good news. _The Great Gatsby_ is like, 100 pages. So you can knock it out in one night. Can you meet tomorrow morning?”

“I have morning practice until seven.”

“Alright, I’ll meet you here at 7:15. We can do a quick debrief of the book before school starts and then meet up again at lunch?”

“Fine, whatever. Can I go?”

“Sure,” Adam’s attention returned back to his homework. “Wait,” he looked up again. “If I have to come in that early, you’re bringing me coffee.”

“Really Parrish?”

“You can tell your brother to take it out of my check. No cream, one sugar,” Adam smiled and immediately went back to work. Ronan stood and stalked out of the library, an unbidden smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

***

After an unpleasantly cold morning practice, Ronan stripped and showered in record time, stepping into half his uniform (pants and shirt) and meeting Adam at 7:15 sharp. “Coffee,” he said in lieu of a greeting, holding out the paper cup for Adam to take.

Even with purply shadows under his eyes, Adam Parrish was a sight. Ronan had to tear his gaze away. “Thanks,” Adam gave him a tired smile before taking a sip. “Sit,” he kicked out the chair from across from him.

“You know, I had to pay one of the freshmen on the JV team to get you that so that I wouldn’t be late.”

Adam was putting away his own work, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Better you pay them to get me coffee, than pay them to do your homework.” He took another sip of his coffee. “So, what did you think of the book?”

“Oh, you know.” Ronan tugged on his bracelets with the fingers of his opposite hand. “The Gatsby was great. Just, so… big?”

“You didn’t read it.”

Ronan paused. “No.”

“Why the hell not, Lynch?”

“I was busy.”

“Really?” Adam eyed him; displeasure evident in the angle of his eyebrows. “Oh, I got it! You can’t read. Is that it? You’re one of those kids that just slipped through the cracks?”

Ronan felt a laugh bubble out of him, shaking his head at the sound. “I can read, I just choose not to.”

Adam scratched at his ear. “Look, you have to read the book, Lynch. I can’t help you if you don’t even _try_.” Ronan couldn’t look at Adam, eyes focusing on a spot just over his shoulder. “What do I have to do? Read it to you myself?”

That was how, ten minutes later, Ronan was stuck listening to Adam drone on and on about Long Island.

“Are you even paying attention?” Adam asked, stopping in the middle of a sentence.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Okay. Then what did I just say?”

“Uh,” Ronan tugged at his too-starched collar. It actually wasn’t his shirt; he had snuck it from Gansey’s stockpile of white oxfords early this morning when he realized he didn’t have any clean uniforms left. “Something about an egg?”

Adam groaned and leaned his forehead against the table. After a few beats he sat up, “_Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable East Egg glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Tom Buchanans_.”

***

Because the world was a cruel place, and Ronan’s God was a cruel god, Adam had a free period while Ronan was in ironworks. He insisted on coming with Ronan to the weight gym, jumping right back into where they left off that morning.

“_This is a valley of ashes—a fantastic farm where ashes grow like wheat into ridges and hills and grotesque gardens; where ashes take the forms of houses and chimneys and rising smoke and, finally, with a transcendent effort, of men who move dimly and already crumbling through the powdery air._”

“Lynch,” Coach Taylor called across the gym. “What the hell are you doing?”

Ronan racked the barbell, sitting up and looking around. Adam was perched on the bench next to him, blazer cast aside, tie loosened, Ronan’s copy of _Gatsby_ in hand. They were both looking at Ronan expectantly. “Homework?” Ronan replied.

Coach Taylor’s sigh could be heard from the other side of the gym as he shook his head and stalked out of the room.

“Shall I continue?” Adam asked, finger marking their spot on the page. Ronan just grunted in assent before starting his second set.

***

Adam also insisted on reading to him during lunch, sitting at Ronan’s table, with Gansey and Noah witnessing the entire exchange, all too entertained.

“Aren’t you sick of me yet?” Ronan asked, dropping his tray on the table. Adam had brought his own lunch, a sad looking peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a banana.

“Yeah, but I don’t have any other time to do this, and you need to start writing your report.” He flipped open the book with one hand, taking a bite of his sandwich with another. “So, we were at Gatsby’s party, yeah?” he said around his food. Ronan nodded and watched as Adam swallowed and began to read.

“_I see I have given the impression that the events of three nights several weeks apart were all that absorbed me. On the contrary, they were merely casual events in a crowded summer, and, until much later, they absorbed me infinitely less than my personal affairs._”

*** 

Ronan was sitting on the bleachers in his practice clothes, pads and all, as Adam read. For October, it was quite nice out, the sun providing enough warmth that Ronan thought there might be a chance he could burn.

Of course, that was more because of Ronan’s pale, Irish skin than the sun. But it was a nice thought, nonetheless.

“_At nine o’clock, one morning late in July, Gatsby’s gorgeous car lurched up the rocky drive to my door and gave out a burst of melody from its three-noted horn_.”

“I’m convinced he’s more attracted to that car than Jordan,” Ronan said, looking up at Adam, head tipped onto the seat behind him.

Adam laughed, closing the book around his finger marking the page. “Oh, like you don’t feel the same way about your car.”

Ronan turned, poking at the tanned skin in the space between the top of Adam’s sock and the bottom of his khakis. “Have you seen my car? She’s a beaut.”

With another bright laugh Adam smacked at Ronan’s hand with his book, he opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by a gravelly southern voice from the field below.

“Lynch!” Coach Taylor called. “Get your ass down here, I don’t get paid to watch you flirt with your tutors!”

Now Ronan was absolutely sure his cheeks were red, but he hoped Adam would attribute it to the watery October sun. “Sorry, Parrish. Gotta go.” He stood, collecting his bag from where it was sitting by his feet.

“Listen,” Adam was watching Ronan carefully. “I want to finish this thing tonight. I live in the apartment above St. Agnes Church. You know where that is?”

Ronan nodded dumbly. Of course Adam fucking Parrish lived above his fucking church. His God was truly a cruel god.

“Great,” Adam packed up his own backpack. “Meet me there after practice.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Ronan wanted to kick himself. “Should I bring you more coffee?” he asked, just to say something.

Adam smiled and stood. He was on the step above, so he was looking down at Ronan. “No. But you should buy me dinner.” Adam looked over Ronan’s shoulder. “You should also get down there, your coach is about to have a conniption.”

Ronan ducked his head and turned, bounding down the bleachers and onto the field. He thought he could feel a pair of eyes on him from the stands, but when he turned around, Adam was gone.

***

Ronan arrived at Adam’s apartment at a quarter to seven, showered, and a greasy bag of fast food in hand. He knocked loudly and waited for Adam to come to the door. Ronan didn’t know much about Adam Parrish, so his living arrangements were quite puzzling.

However, when the door swung open, Ronan could care less. When faced with a shirtless Adam Parrish, Ronan had no words.

“Sorry,” Adam had a towel draped over one shoulder, patting at his damp hair. “I just got out of the shower. Come in.”

Ronan stepped across the threshold, appraising the barren apartment, trying to look anywhere but the golden-brown skin that was Adam Parrish’s chest. “I hope you like cheeseburgers.”

“Sounds great. I’m starving.” Adam pulled a faded Coca-Cola shirt from a laundry basket. “You can sit on the bed. That’s really the only comfortable place to sit in this whole place.” Ronan sat gingerly at the foot of Adam’s bed, bag of food still in hand. “Do you mind, uh,” Adam paused, color rising to his cheeks. “Moving to the other side?”

“Huh?”

“I just, can't hear out of my left ear. So if you could move—”

“Of course, Parrish. Shit.” Ronan stood and moved over, and Adam sat down with a grateful smile.

“Thanks.”

There were a tense few beats, so Ronan lifted the bag. “Food?”

“Please,” Adam took the bag and peeked into it. “Does it matter what I take?”

“Nah, it’s all the same.” Adam nodded and pulled out a paper-wrapped burger and a carton of fries before handing the bag back to Ronan. He watched Adam take a bite and chew thoughtfully. “So,” Ronan started.

“So,” Adam repeated, swallowing.

“I didn’t realize you lived here. Alone.”

Adam nodded, and took his time to respond. “Yeah, it’s sort of the same thing as my ear,” he gestured to the appendage vaguely. “Don’t really like to talk about it.”

“Right.” Ronan searched for a way to change the subject. “I go to church here, at St. Agnes.”

“Is that right?”

“Mhm, every Sunday in my monkey suit.” Ronan shoved a couple fries in his mouth. “My brothers, too.”

“Brothers? Plural? I thought it was just you and Declan.”

“We have a younger brother, Matthew. He’s a freshman.”

“Oh,” Adam turned. “That blond kid on the water polo team?”

“Yeah.” Ronan paused. “Our mom is blonde.”

“Right.”

There was another tense silence. “Does, uh, tutoring pay enough for the rent on this place?”

Adam laughed humorlessly. “No, I also work at Boyd’s? One of the mechanics in town. And I worked at the factory before I moved in here, but tutoring is a much better gig.”

“Cool,” Ronan felt himself nodding, he took another bite of his burger just to still the motion.

“Though, what your brother is paying me is enough to cover next month’s rent alone.”

“Is your rate really that high, or is this place really cheap?”

“You are kind of a handful of a client,” Adam laughed, crumpling up his trash and tossing it into the bag at their feet.

“Are you saying that you don’t read to all the kids you tutor?”

“Nope, you’re special.” Adam stood and washed his hands in the little kitchenette. “Shall we?” he asked once he returned to his bed, Ronan’s book in hand.

“If you want,” Ronan leaned back against the wall as Adam started to read.

Sometime later, Adam stopped to go to the bathroom and to get a drink of water. When he returned, Ronan had his legs tucked up under him on the bed, chewing on the bracelets at his wrist.

“Can I ask you something?” Ronan said as Adam settled back onto his bed.

“Sure.” Adam’s voice was a little raspy with overuse, and Ronan had to take a deep breath to keep his head on straight.

“Do you even like this book? Because I honestly can’t tell.”

Adam looked at him quizzically, one finger fidgeting with the pages of the book. “What do you mean?”

“Like, sometimes you really get into it and you look like you’re enjoying yourself. Other times, you seem so annoyed with the story. I don’t read enough to know if it’s a good book or not, and you’re giving me a lot of mixed signals.”

Adam laughed, a low, raspy thing. “I do think it’s a good book. It’s sort of universally accepted as a good book, you know? That’s why you’re supposed to read it. And I think Fitzgerald is a really talented writer, but the characters drive me _insane_.” Ronan felt himself laugh as Adam continued on. “I mean, Daisy is this vapid, materialistic _child_ who has no concern for the ways her actions affect others. And Gatsby has a one-track mind. He’s willing to do all these terrible, terrible things just to get the attention of some girl. And then you realize that that girl is _Daisy_, it just doesn’t seem worth it. He could have done anything with his life, and he chose to spend his time staring at that stupid green light.” As Adam spoke, the vestiges of his Henrietta accent bled through his words. “And don’t _even_ get me started on Nick Carraway.”

Ronan looked on, entranced. “Tell me what you think about Nick Carraway.”

“Nick Carraway is the kind of person I’ve sworn that I’d never become. He’s a tertiary character in his own story. He’s the kind of man that life just happens to. And in the end, he thinks himself some sort of moral elitist. Like he’s learned anything profound from all of this.” Adam huffed indignantly, like Nick Carraway had personally offended him.

Ronan leaned back against the wall, Adam mirroring his motions. They looked at each other, neither of them speaking, for a few long moments. “I think this,” Ronan gestured to the bed and Adam’s makeshift desk. “Proves that you couldn’t be Nick Carraway, even if you tried.”

Adam looked away, eyes flicking down to his lap to where the book was sitting. “Thanks, Ronan.” He opened up the book and began to read.

***

“_Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther... And one fine morning—So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past._”

Adam closed the book soundly, looking over at Ronan who was propped up against his pillows. “Wow, you’re right. Nick Carraway is a huge douche.”

Adam’s raspy laugh lit up his whole face, tossing his book to the side. “I mean, I’m glad you agree, but what else?”

“What do you mean?” Ronan picked at his bracelets mindlessly.

“Like, what are you going to talk about? In your essay?”

“I don’t know.” Ronan sat up and scrubbed a hand over his scalp.

“It’s not that difficult. This is like, Symbolism for Dummies. Baby’s first symbolic metaphor.”

“Whatever, I’ll just, talk about the American Dream, or whatever.”

“Were you even paying attention? The entire last chapter is about how the American Dream is just a myth.”

Ronan scoffed. “I just have to get a high enough grade to pass, Parrish. My essay doesn’t have to be _good_.”

“Do you think your apathy for academics makes you cool?” Adam asked, turning to face Ronan. “Because I know that your whole dumb, jock thing is just a façade.”

With a roll of his eyes, Ronan said, “What do you want me to say, Parrish?”

“I want you to admit that you care about this assignment, and that you think that _Gatsby_ can, and does, relate to your life in some way.”

“Maybe I’m not as smart as you think I am.”

“If I didn’t believe you could do it, I wouldn’t have read you the entire fucking book!” Adam stood, staring down at Ronan.

Ronan stood, using the few inches he had over Adam to his advantage. “Maybe you have too much faith in my ability. You bet on the wrong horse, Parrish. Time to just accept that.”

“God, you’re just like him.” Adam turned away, picking up their trash from the floor and walking it over to his kitchen.

“Who?” Ronan followed him across the room. “Nick Carraway?”

“No,” Adam held Ronan’s gaze. “Gatsby. I don’t blame George Wilson, I’d like to shoot you in a swimming pool right now, too.”

Ronan felt the anger that was seemingly always stewing beneath the surface boil over. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Adam didn’t cower, he didn’t look away.

“It’s the truth. You’re Jay Gatsby and your father is Daisy Buchanan; and instead of throwing these lavish parties, you’ve built these walls around yourself. You can’t just hold on to the past, Ronan. You can’t just hold on to the things you think are true. At some point you are going to look into the mirror and realize that you’ve wasted your time.”

There were many things Ronan wanted to say to this, but his sea of thoughts felt impossible to navigate. Instead, Ronan grabbed his jacket and keys from Adam’s desk and stormed out into the night. He climbed into the BMW and tore out of the parking lot, fingers tightening and flexing on the steering wheel as he sped through the sleepy streets of Henrietta.

***

Ronan somehow dragged himself out of bed a few hours later and made it to his morning practice on time. Coach Taylor had the team run passing drills, Ronan’s arm feeling like a wet noodle as she showered and got ready for school. It was Thursday, and Ronan was counting down the hours until they boarded the bus for their away game in Richmond on Friday.

He was not keeping track of Adam Parrish in his peripheral vision, because that would only prove Adam right.

“Where’s Parrish?” Gansey asked as he sat down to eat lunch. Ronan was hunched over his tray and Noah was physically present, but mentally absent.

“Don’t know,” Ronan took a sip of his milk. “Don’t care.”

Gansey searched the cafeteria, eyes lighting up in recognition. Before Gansey could do something stupid, like invite Adam to eat lunch with them, Ronan kicked him under the table. “Don’t, Gansey. Please.”

Ronan Lynch never said please. And Gansey knew this. Noah knew it too, the blond looking up at the word. “Okay,” Gansey conceded. He tapped the table mindlessly with his knuckles, “is there a reason why?”

Ronan stood, chair scraping across the floor. “I have to go; I’ll see you at Monmouth after practice.” He took his lunch, or what was left of it, with him as he stalked out of the cafeteria and into the mostly empty hall.

Despite not wanting to think about Jay Gatsby ever again, Ronan did have an English paper due if he wanted to play on Friday. While shoving the last few bites of his turkey sandwich in his mouth, Ronan made his way for the library, sitting at one of the empty computers at the back of the first floor.

Ronan Lynch began to write.

***

They won their game in Richmond, but it wasn’t easy. The opposing team’s offensive players were pretty weak, struggling to move the line of scrimmage across the field. Their defensive line, however, made up for any lost points their O-line had been depending on. Ronan had been subject to multiple sacks, and he could feel bruises starting to form along the left side of his body from where he had hit the ground time after time.

But Aglionby came out on top, 7-0, thanks to a well-timed running play, Jiang taking the ball all the way into the endzone at the top of the fourth quarter. Their kicker had no trouble getting the ball between the uprights, and Ronan spent the last minutes of the game on the bench, a trainer cleaning turf out of a few nasty cuts along his left arm.

At the end of the game, Declan and Matthew met Ronan on the field, decked out in their Aglionby spirit gear. Matthew left Ronan breathless with a tight hug, chattering on and on about the game. The Lynches were raised on football, and while Ronan was the only Lynch brother who continued to play since their father died, Declan and Matthew still loved the game.

“That touchdown was incredible! The way you faked out that right tackle and got the ball to Jiang,” Matthew was beaming, the stadium lights had nothing on his smile. “It was fucking beautiful.”

“Language,” the two elder Lynches said in unison, Declan catching Ronan’s gaze with a tight smile.

Matthew just rolled his eyes, and Ronan tucked him under his arm. “It was pretty fucking beautiful.”

“You did learn from the best,” Declan said at last. For the first time in Ronan’s recent memory, Declan had complimented their father without a trace of sarcasm. The brothers started to head towards the locker room. “I take it that Parrish’s tutoring was successful? Seeing that you were allowed to play tonight and all.”

Ronan had the pleasure of not thinking about Adam Parrish for the last few hours, but that all came crashing down as Declan spoke. “Yeah,” he huffed, extracting his arm from Matthew’s shoulder.

“I paid him this afternoon,” Declan said, tucking his hands in the pocket of his jeans. “I hope it was worth it, because you weren’t cheap.”

Matthew snorted. “I’m sure it was, Joren told me that Parrish was reading _The Great Gatsby_ out loud to him.”

Ronan moved to scuff his little brother across the back of his head, Matthew dancing away and laughing. “Shut up, Matty.”

“He read the entire book out loud to you?” Declan asked. “Are you kidding me?” Ronan adjusted his helmet under his arm and didn’t respond. “I don’t think $500 was enough. Jesus Christ, Ronan.”

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” Ronan responded automatically.

“You better send that kid a thank you card.” Ronan pushed past his older brother, Declan laughing, the bright sound echoing through the emptying stadium.

*** 

Ronan sat in his least favorite suit in the hard pew of St. Agnes on Sunday morning. He had slept most of Saturday, his body desperately trying to recover from Friday’s grueling game. However, the constant cycle of stand/sit/kneel that was Sunday Mass, made it quite obvious that his body was not completely healed from the brutal beating it took Friday night. Ronan was relived as church let out, filing out of the building behind his brothers, slipping his phone out of his pocket in an attempt to look busy enough that the older church ladies who loved to dote on the _handsome Lynch boys_, wouldn’t bother him.

Gansey and Noah, Ronan’s only two friends, knew better than to text Ronan, so there weren’t any new messages he could pretend to respond to. There was, however, a new email in his inbox. It was an automatic alert from the school letting him know that there was a new grade inputted by Mrs. Burrs.

Ronan clicked on the attached link and waited impatiently for the page to load.

_Book Report 1: 90/100_

“Holy shit,” Ronan said under his breath.

Declan, who was creepily attuned to Ronan’s every bad habit turned around and hissed, “don’t swear in church.” Ronan ignored his older brother’s admonishment and held his phone out so Declan could see the screen. “Holy shit,” Declan said, much louder than Ronan had. “Nice going, little brother.” Declan clapped him on the back twice, a genuine smile crossing his features. “I knew you could do it.”

Ronan looked down at his phone, pride rushing through him.

That feeling was replaced with dread as he stepped out of the church and into the sun.

“Seeing as you did so well on your book report, I think it’s only fair that you get to pick where we go for lunch.” Declan pulled his keys from his pocket, jingling them in his hand.

“I have something more important to do,” Ronan found himself saying, turning towards the stairs that led up to Adam’s apartment.

“What?” Declan called after him.

Ronan turned, continuing to walk backwards. “I’ll see you later!” Declan looked back at him dumbly as Ronan slipped into the crowd.

The stairs up to Adam’s apartment were steep, some of the old concrete cracking under Ronan’s shoes, but he didn’t pay it any mind, not stopping until he was knocking loudly on the door. Adam didn’t answer right away, and Ronan worried that he might have been at Boyd’s. He wasn’t sure he could muster up the courage to speak to Adam after his high had worn off. He reached to knock on the door once more.

Before his knuckles could make contact with the worn wood, the door swung open to reveal a rumpled and sleepy Adam Parrish standing there.

“Oh, shit, did I wake you up?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Did I wake you up?” Ronan asked again, preparing himself to leave. “Because I can go if you want to go back to bed.”

“No,” Adam said at last, his grip still tight on the door. “The bells wake me up every Sunday. I was just brushing my teeth. Why are you _here_?” He gestured to his sorry excuse of a porch.

Ronan looked down at his shoes for a moment before looking back up at Adam’s searing blue gaze. “I got an A- on my book report.”

Whatever tension Adam was holding onto released, an easy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Is that right? Congratulations.”

“It was all you—” Ronan started.

“That’s bullshit. I just read the book to you. You did the hard part.”

They stood in silence for a few beats before Ronan asked, “can I come in?” just as Adam said, “would you like to come in?” The two boys laughed, Adam stepping back enough to let Ronan inside, and Ronan following him into the apartment.

He followed Adam to his bed, dropping down beside him on Adam’s good side. Ronan mindlessly chewed on the leather bracelets on his wrist, trying to put his thoughts to words. But it was Adam who spoke first. “Look. What I said about your dad. I didn’t mean it.” Adam paused. “Okay, maybe I did kind of mean it. But it was totally out of line. I wanted to say something to hurt you, and I definitely went too far.” He took a deep breath, like he was steeling himself for the next thing he was about to say. “I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted, Parrish,” Ronan said around his bracelets. He lowered his hand. “But you were kind of right about me.” He scrubbed his face with both hands. “I don’t want to be like Gatsby,” Ronan hated the raw edge of his voice, but he pushed on. “I don’t want to stare at those stupid fucking freckles across the back of your neck like it’s the goddamn green light at the end of Daisy’s dock. I _don’t_.”

“What?” Adam said dumbly, blue eyes blinking slowly up at him.

Ronan, who was a man of action and very little words, had nothing more to say, surging forward and kissing Adam Parrish square on the mouth. It was a chaste kiss, just the press of lips to lips, but Ronan felt a thrill go through him. A bolt of lightning shooting down his spine.

As Ronan tried to pull away, Adam reached out, hands gripping on to the lapel of Ronan’s suit, keeping their lips locked. Ronan let himself relax into their kiss, fingers reaching around to the back of Adam’s neck, pressing into the freckles he had memorized weeks before.

Adam pulled away at that, breaths wracking though him, their foreheads tipped together.

“Holy shit,” Ronan said for the second time that morning. He was going to have to go to confession for all this blasphemy.

“Holy shit,” Adam concurred, pushing forward to press another kiss to Ronan’s lips. “Holy shit, indeed.”

Ronan felt himself laugh, a quiet, hopeful thing. Adam’s shoulders shook in mirth, a smile stretching across his features. Ronan pulled back to study the way Adam’s face morphed with unadulterated joy.

“You have no idea how long I wanted to do that,” Ronan said, breathless.

“_No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart,” _Adam recited.

Ronan had no choice but to kiss him again.

**Author's Note:**

> If you thought, when reading this, that it sort of seems like the B-plot of an episode of _Friday Night Lights_, that would be because it is the B-plot from an episode of _Friday Night Lights_. In my defense, “Landry reads _Of Mice and Men_ out loud to Big Tim Riggins” is the gayest sounding plot line in history and I cannot _believe_ they don’t make out at the end.
> 
> Comments/Kudos are always greatly appreciated ♥︎
> 
> You can find me [here.](https://andtimestoodstill.tumblr.com)


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